Where to Next?
by bluebel703
Summary: 1x03 - Where Sam and Dean don't have another case to get to and Sam contemplates his brother, their life, and loneliness.


Andrea and Lucas waved as Dean put the car into drive and pulled onto the highway. They had no leads on Dad, no other cases. In the old days, this would mean an extended stay. John tried to keep them in the same school as long as he could, and he'd use the time to keep them settled, to train them. Sam had never experienced hunting as an adult, without anyone to answer to at the end of the day.

"Where to next?" Sam asked. Dean shrugged, started the car and drove off towards nothing in particular.

Sam closed his eyes and leaned back on the passenger seat and his thoughts, which mostly were focused on Jessica and the demon and his father, shifted to Dean.

There were many reasons he didn't like the thought of his brother hunting solo. It was significantly more dangerous and while Dean was capable and strong, that didn't always make up for having no one at your back. But also, he didn't like the idea of his brother so alone.

What did Dean do before Sam joined him? Did he just drive around alone after a hunt and wait for Dad to give him further instructions. The thought made Sam ache for his brother in a way he hadn't been wise enough to before Stanford, before he had friends he saw regularly for weeks, months, years. Sam swallowed, emotional rising embarrassingly quickly as it tended to then.

Not only had he lost Jessica, but he also knew that he would never see many of the friends he left behind in Stanford. Jill, Zach, Rebecca, Ted, Clara, Louis – they had meant something to him and while he didn't tell them _everything_ about his life and Dean and his monsters, he had let them get to know him as much as he was able to and they had let him get to know them.

He reminded himself that it wasn't forever, this hunting. He had one, goal: get the demon. After that, he could finish his degree, return to law school. His friends, he knew, would take him back. He was not a Winchester for nothing, he was careful about who he let into his life. His friends were loyal, kind, it might take time but eventually, they would understand and forgive him.

But Dean? Who would Dean have when Sam left? Hunting was just a long series of goodbyes. The people they met were often grateful, sometimes they were incredibly kind and generous, but was extremely rare that they became friends or even acquaintances. Andrea may have kissed Dean but Sam knew as they pulled away they would never see her or Lucas again.

Their peripatetic childhood had prepared them for this, loss so constant it no longer felt like loss just life. Dean had always handled it better them Sam – perhaps too well. He made friends instantly wherever they went, but when they stayed in town for too long, he got uncomfortable and pushed people away just as fast. He was only ever interested in having Sam and John know him.

Sam cracked open an eye and looked at his brother who was staring at the road, his finger tapping along to some rock song Sam didn't know but Dean did. Usually he would sing-along. He was quiet, Sam knew part of it was for his own benefit, Dean knew how much sleep Sam was not getting and was always flipping the radio to soft rock stations that put Sam to sleep, but this quietness was also now a part of Dean, something new that had developed in the four years they were apart.

Sam used to know everything about Dean. His brother would raise an eyebrow and Sam knew why, knew what he was feeling, knew why he was feeling it and, once, knew how to get Dean to admit to feeling it. Now, Dean had scars, Sam didn't know about, quietness Sam didn't understand, years that were a void to Sam.

He knew it was normal, perhaps even healthy, not to know everything about Dean. He had been a little surprised at Stanford how little some of his friends seemed to know about their own siblings, how unconcerned they seemed with the goings on in their lives. Then again, he had been at Stanford as well, not knowing what Dean was doing, shrugging when people asked him because it was too painful to think about Dean on the road, fighting monsters while Sam read up on Pre-Settlement History in his own bed.

No longer tired, Sam straightened up.

"You must do something after hunts," Sam said abruptly restarting their conversation. Partly because the silence was giving him too much time to think and a little because he missed knowing his brother in unhealthily-specific detail.

Dean hesitated and when Sam kept looking at him, he sighed.

"Nothing special, I just find a local bar, a local girl, you know?" Dean said.

Yeah Sam knew. Dean went out and had fun. Sam felt awful, the sympathy he felt moments ago for his brother changing to guilt.

"I'm sorry, man," Sam said. He had spent so much time thinking about how weird it was for him to be back on the road, all the adjustments he had to make, he never once thought about Dean and how having Sam thrown back into his life 24/7 changed things. He never once considered that Dean had built a life and Sam had bounded back in and changed everything. He never considered it because Dean had never once mentioned it.

"I know I haven't been fun to be around," Sam said. He had been downright surly the past few weeks, mopping about Stanford, grieving for Jessica, and Dean was being patient with him, treating him with proverbial kid gloves.

"You don't have to be fun, Sam," Dean said, taking his eyes of the road to look at Sam. "No one is expecting you to be fun right now."

Sam managed a smile and a nod and looked out the window. Sometimes, he was so glad to have his brother back it was painful. Sam was many things, but he wasn't stupid. He knew he was lucky to have Dean, that he was lucky to be loved the way he was.

He fell asleep and dreamed of Jessica burning, again. Dean woke him again, pretending to merely be annoyed and not concerned. They were in a motel parking lot in Nebraska or a state near Nebraska. Sam didn't know why and he didn't care. All he wanted to do was get a room and go to sleep.

"Wanna grab a beer?" Dean asked. Sam hesitated. He knew that he should. If he said no, they would both go to the room and watch TV and Sam would fall asleep and Dean would sit their quietly, wondering what the hell to do with himself at 8 pm.

"You go," Sam said. "Find that local bar and local girl."

Dean hesitated, but Sam could see the consideration in his eyes it had been a while since he had a chance to blow of some steam. He had been hunting and sitting shiva with his brother.

"One of us should have a good night," Sam said, taking Dean's bag from him. "Just let me know if I need to _go to the library_."

There were many nights in their childhood when Sam was unceremoniously kicked out of his bedroom and forced to go 'study at the library' even though occasionally it was 1 AM and the library was closed and Sam was forced instead to an all-night diner. Dean laughed and for the first time in what seemed like forever, Sam cracked a smile.

Dean gave him a little salute and walked down the street to find the nearest bar. Sam got their room. It was the same as every other. Taupe walls, grey bedding and dingy kitchenette. He put his duffel bag on his bed, claiming the one closest by the door since his brother would likely come back drunk or not come back at all until morning.

He turned on the TV and debated ordering pizza. Stanford had given him his first taste of privacy. In second year, he was a Resident Assistant and had his own bedroom. No Dean. No Dad. As much as he missed them, he enjoyed luxuriating in his own space without having to consider anyone else.

He was hoping to recapture that feeling while Dean was at the bar. He wanted to watch TV, eat bad food, shut off his mind for once. It wasn't the same in a motel and soon he was flipping through the channels, then through a book he wanted to read, then through his old text messages.

Jess wishing him luck before exams. Jess telling him she loved him. Jess asking him to pick up laundry detergent. He could recite them word-for-word.

It was a form of masochism, he knew that, but he wasn't scared of pain – he was used to pain – he was scared that one day he would wake up and realize that he hadn't thought about her all day. He refused to allow Jessica's legacy to be that she died at age 22 because of a man who forgot about her. He closed his eyes even though he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep.

There was scratching at the door handle, Sam reached for his gun and pointed at the door just as Dean opened it, eyebrows raised.

"Hello to you too," he said. He was holding two plastic bags that smelled like Chinese food.

"What are you doing here?" Sam said before realizing he was still training the gun on Dean. He lowered it and walked over to the fold-out table Dean was covering in Chinese take-out.

"Bar was no good," Dean said before promptly shoveling beef and broccoli into his mouth. Sam looked at the clock. Dean had only been gone for an hour. In his entire life, Sam had never known Dean to abandon a bar after only an hour. There was always some girl to flirt with or pool table to pillage.

"Eat," Dean said, pushing some of the food towards Sam. Sam sat at the table and quietly filled his plate wondering, for the first time in a long time, how he had survived a day without his brother.


End file.
